


Pure Comedy

by noblet



Category: Fake News RPF
Genre: Adultery, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-02 11:53:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10943949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblet/pseuds/noblet
Summary: And that’s when… God, it happens again.





	Pure Comedy

**Author's Note:**

> nahhhhhhh

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

It is a warning that's grown to become almost palpable in his mind, repeated so many times that if he really, really wanted to, Stephen could touch the hallowed words as they departed from lips. 

Jon repeats the statement again, somehow detached yet still whole, Stephen, in his mind, reaches out.

And that’s when… God, it happens again. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” Jon mumbles against him, against his lips now, beard tickling Stephen’s jaw, his cheeks.

“Shouldn’t, or can’t?” Stephen wants to ask. He doesn't, though.

Every time Jon mumbles a warning it’s like he’s hearing it for the first. Hits him right in the heart and floats down to his gut, settles uneasily on his conscience. He kisses back.

Over the years he's learned too much about Jon Stewart to know that he’s in just as much as a tug-of-war as he. Always torn between the _we won’ts_ and _we dids_ and _let’s not_ s and _we can’ts._

“Last time,” is what Jon says after every time, and every time after Stephen still gets that same feeling in his gut, in his chest, in his mouth, left dry and speechless.

And maybe one day there  _will_ be a last time.

Yesterday was not that day. Today is not that day. Tomorrow is not that day.

A pair of addicts, they are. To attention, when Stephen was younger. Cigarettes for Jon, up until recently. And the both of them know that Jon still keeps packs of Newports in his desk, that Stephen would still do anything for a few moments of attention. 

 _I need you_ , Jon says without speaking, and Stephen, as much as he doesn’t want to, as much as he tells himself not to, feels the same way.

“We shouldn’t be doing this, I’m telling you,” Jon says again. This time Stephen’s sliding Jon’s jacket off his shoulders, and maybe next time he’ll be undoing his tie, and maybe next time he’ll be hooking his thumbs through identical belt loops, pressing their bodies too close together.

"We shouldn't," Jon says, but then moves to come even closer, hand already in Stephen's hair with hot lips against his good ear.

Talk. God, why can't he just talk? His mind forms the words to end it all but his lips don't move. His fingers twitch against the base of Jon's neck, just below his hairline.

Time slows, stops, and starts up again all in an instant. It's gotten hard to breathe.  _God, I love you,_ he thinks. Then, _Jesus, what is wrong with me._

But he's always been this way.

The way Jon makes him feel. That's- It's a little exhausting at times. Tired is the word. He's always tired, now, the both of them. 

They're getting older, as much as they don't like to admit it. Acknowledging the time would mean acknowledging everything else, this, them, and there's no way in hell they'll toe that border. 

"You should go home. To your wife," Jon murmurs.

And that's how it starts.


End file.
